Sad Sad Christmas

My father said I cultivate illusions. Illusions I cultivate.
My sister cracked again and again.
Again and again my sister cracked.

Is this Christmas, when no Christ has born?
Is this the place, where I would like to stay?
Where is my place, here on earth or somewhere beyond?

I fight for a decent way, not too honest, not too fool: a way that I could.
It is a rare gift to make people happier.
Let us wash our souls in the blood of the innocent.
Let us come to be humans, spirits of a prayer.
Help us to tear away from the face of the world the shit that we made.

© 2017 Apalis Duo